


finding the right space to fit in

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s05e10 Status Asthmaticus, M/M, Past Braeden/Derek Hale, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finding the right space to fit in

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had this image after watching the mid-season finale last night, and my memory of things is fractured due to exhaustion, so it's entirely possible this doesn't fit canon after all. But the intention that it's immediately post-canon, based on the assumption that if Braeden is there, so is Derek. There are spoilers alluded to from 5a and there are solutions alluded to (canon typical violence) for resolution after. It's short, and not as in-depth as it could be. It just wanted out of my head. This is also absolutely unbetaed and all fractured thoughts or spelling errors are my own.

Derek finds Stiles with his father, clinging to his bloody hand, whispering prayers under his breath. Derek can just barely hear the faint thud of the Sheriff’s heart, and he drops a hand to Stiles’s shoulder, feeling the twitch beneath his fingers to tell him that he has his attention.

“Did you call for help?” Derek asks softly, and Stiles nods.

“I’m scared,” Stiles whispers, like the admission hisses out of him without his control. Derek goes to his knees, wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds on. His other hand covers where Stiles still holds onto his father, anchoring them both in the here and now and stealing some of the Sheriff’s pain.

It isn’t much, but it’s all he can do right now.

When the EMTs arrive, Derek steps away, rubs blood onto his jeans and crosses his arms, watching. Stiles follows the stretcher out, climbs into the ambulance and is whisked away with the jarring sound of a siren and tires moving too fast on the pavement as they peel out.

#

Derek finds Stiles in the waiting room, sitting more quietly than he’s ever seen him before, elbows on his knees, fingers twitching as he counts them obsessively, checks one-two-three-four-five on each hand before doing it all over again. He wishes he could tell Stiles that it’s a dream, but Derek knows all too well what it’s like to be living in the nightmare and unable to escape.

He takes the chair next to Stiles, lets his knees spread enough to knock against Stiles’s knee, letting him know that he’s there.

“It’s touch and go,” Stiles says without looking at him. “He lost a lot of blood. Punctured lung. You probably heard the gurgle. Some crushed ribs. Head injury. They just don’t know what’s going to happen, and they’re putting him under. To sleep. So it’ll be like he’s dead, but healing.” He twists his fingers together, tugging until he winces and Derek can smell the sour notes of anxiety and pain.

He covers Stiles’s hands with his own, leaches some of the pain from him until Stiles stills beneath his touch. “Your dad is strong,” Derek offers. “And he has a lot to come back to.”

Stiles snorts, a dry, despairing sound. “Melissa’s not here and she’s not answering her phone. I can’t reach Scott. I don’t know what’s going on, or where Theo is, and it’s all going… it’s all going to hell. And you’re here _now_.”

“I’m here now.” Derek has no idea what that had to do with anything else. He knows who Theo is—Stiles has been texting Braeden and the information flows both ways. He rants about problems in between thanking her for news on the Desert Wolf, and Braeden keeps Derek up to date on Beacon Hills. “Stiles, the Desert Wolf is coming, if she’s not already here. We found her. Deaton found her.”

“Is he alive?” Stiles doesn’t sound surprised, sounds almost defeated like _of course_ Deaton would be dead now.

“He’s alive.” There are things Derek leaves out, like how the Desert Wolf used Deaton as a message to Derek and Braeden, how they had to make sure he would be stable before they could move on, which is why she might already be here. “We need to pull the pack together. We need to be ready for her.”

Stiles looks up at him finally, amber eyes dull and blank. “There is no pack, Derek. Not any more. Whatever she’s coming for, she’s going to roll right over us. Theo made sure of that.”

#

Derek wakes to a noise in his loft, and finds Stiles sitting on the windowsill, looking out over the city. Derek clears his throat and Stiles looks over, shrugs one shoulder.

“I figured you’d wake up eventually,” Stiles says.

“Didn’t you once tell me to stop breaking into your room?” Derek points out the obvious home invasion, almost smiling when Stiles holds up a small, shiny object.

“I made a key. It’s not breaking and entering when I come in through the front door by unlocking it.” Stiles pockets the key, glances at the circular staircase. “Is Braeden still asleep?”

“Braeden’s staying with Malia, which is probably lucky for you. She would have shot first, asked who it was after.” Derek sits on the back of the sofa, perched and balanced, watching Stiles. His posture is defensive, as if by crossing his arms, Stiles can keep everything away from him, protect himself from being hurt any more.

It doesn’t work that way.

“Is there any news about your father?” It’s only been a day, but since Stiles has left the hospital and smells of fresh soap and clean clothes, Derek figures there has to be something.

Stiles shakes his head, looks back at the window. “Melissa’s there. Apparently Scott died, but he’s fine now. Liam’s not talking to anyone because Hayden died. And Lydia’s missing. It’s just… it’s a mess.”

“Do you want help?” Derek doesn’t add to the bleak picture that Stiles paints by reminding him that the Desert Wolf wants to kill Malia.

“Are you planning to stick around and offer it?” The look that pins him is sharp, Stiles glaring darkly. “Because no, I don’t want help from anyone else who’s just going to ditch. You didn’t even _text_.”

“I’m here.” Derek spreads his hands. “I’m here now.”

Stiles deflates in on himself, body hunched around his gut. “Then yes,” he whispers. “We need help.”

#

When all is said and done, when Derek has Theo’s blood on his hands, he finds Stiles curled in his bed in the loft, completely asleep. His expression is lax and soft, at ease like it hasn’t been in the months since his father’s injury and slow recovery. He still smells rank with exhaustion, but there is a loose edge to it, as if the anxiety is finally slipping from his pores and letting him rest.

Derek stands and watches him sleep for a long moment before he goes into the adjoining bath and washes up, grabs some clean clothes and gets changed. He makes his way back down the stairs to where Braeden is sitting on the sofa, Italian leather boots propped on the Italian coffee table.

She arches one eyebrow. “Do you always keep teenagers in your loft?”

“He made himself a key.” Derek drops onto the sofa, space between them. They’ve been partners in work for months now, but they haven’t been _partners_ for a long time. Sex was good while it lasted, but he likes her better as a friend.

He wonders sometimes if sex is worth it. If relationships are worth it. Or maybe it’s just the ties that he needs, maybe he’s just seeking pack and he’s found that if he looks hard enough and lets himself believe.

Braeden snickers softly, reaches out to pat Derek’s knee. “You need to stop bringing home strays,” she tells him. Derek makes a noncommittal noise that could be either agreement or irritation; he lets her decide and she doesn’t push the subject.

“You need sleep too.” She nudges at his knee with her own. “Go on up. I know where the blankets are and I’ll crash down here tonight.”

He hesitates, because his bed is _occupied_ , and she shoves at him, just a little harder.

“It’s _your_ bed,” she points out. “And he chose to be there. Just go _sleep_ before you fall over, Derek. We’ve tried to spend the night on a couch together before and it wasn’t pretty. You flail, I punch, and you get to heal from the black eye before I do. So go, okay?”

Derek goes.

#

Derek wakes to find Stiles lying there on his side, propped up on one elbow, staring at him. Amber eyes go wide when Derek blinks his own eyes open, and Stiles flails back, almost falling out of bed before Derek grabs his shirt and hauls him back.

“It’s okay,” Derek says before he lets him go. He can smell the tension rising from Stiles’s skin, the worry that he’s somehow done wrong, so Derek sighs and tries not to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Really, Stiles, it’s okay. You stole my bed, I shared it, we’re fine.”

“Are we?” Stiles sits up, shoves at his hair which does nothing to neaten it. “Because Derek, I…” He stops speaking, heart pounding like a jackrabbit in his chest, loud to Derek’s ears.

“What?” When Stiles doesn’t respond, Derek touches his arm. “Stiles, _what_?”

“Ihaven’tslepthiswellsincetheNogitsune.” The sentence comes out in a rush, as if it’s only one word. “Not since then, not since you _died_ , and what is it with the werewolves around here dying and coming back transformed? You, Jackson, Scott. I don’t _like_ it. I was coughed up by a demon. Lydia…” Stiles shakes his head. “There isn’t a single one of us that’s the body that they started with, and I don’t know how it works anymore. How we all fit. How we can be ourselves when there’s nothing left.”

“Hey.” Derek reaches up, wraps an arm around Stiles’s middle and drags him back down. He wraps around him, waits until he feels Stiles shudder, go limp and shaking with tears, shivering as Derek slowly cradles him close and keeps him safe. He cards his fingers through Stiles’s hair, grooming him as if he’s a wolf, calming the wounded spirit that is almost too painful to see. “We’re okay. We’re all okay,” he whispers, the words soft against Stiles’s skin.

“What if we’re not okay tomorrow? What if it just starts all over again?”

There’s no good answer to the question, because Derek knows Stiles is right. This is Beacon Hills, and it _will_ start again soon. They might get a break, they might even get years, but it will come back. Trouble always does.

He lowers his head, lips against the nape of Stiles’s neck. “Then we deal with it when it comes,” he says softly. “Until then, we live our lives, Stiles.”

“And if I want you in it?” Stiles pulls away, twists abruptly to turn himself to face Derek, and lands half on top of him, his hand squarely over Derek’s heart.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Derek has a history of running away, but not this time. “I’m done running. I think I’m finally home.”

Stiles stares at him for moments too long, his heart slowing until it settles into a steady thump-thump. He nods once, eases himself into place, lying with his head on Derek’s shoulder, his arm across his chest. “Good,” he says, silent for a long moment after. “ _Good_.”

#

Derek finds Stiles in his life after that, fitting in as if he was always meant to be there. And somehow it doesn’t surprise him at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


End file.
